


Committed to Memory

by ShavetheDreadWolf (WantedDonkey)



Series: Patissiere [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, Rated for sex mentions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-08 17:30:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3217559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WantedDonkey/pseuds/ShavetheDreadWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian is proud of his memory, and even prouder when the memories of him stick and cloud his thoughts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Committed to Memory

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing fan fiction in about, oh, seven years. So I decided to try something kind of simple, try and get myself back into the flow of writing again. So please, forgive me if there's any stiffness or lack of flow! I hope it makes for good reading!

Dorian committed many things to memory. Usually these things were limited to things of a more scholarly nature, and even the quickest way to get to where the Inquisitor stored his best alcohol, the awful stuff the Tavern served he could only stomach for so long, before he desired something more refined.

But as of late, he had been memorising more than just knowledge. He began to store away little memories of _him_ , to lock away and remember later, when he was not needed on the field, when books held no interest to him, or even for when he just wished to think of him.

He committed to memory the way Samahl's nostrils would flare slightly when he tried to hide his laughter. He was the sort to laugh, and laugh  _hard_ at anything he thought even the slightest amusing, so when he was needed at his most serious it was greatly entertaining to watch him try to hold it back, nose flaring in and out as he tried to resist giving in, and often, he could not hold out long, laughter trembling his words before he finally snorted and laughed.

And so he memorised the way he laughed. His name suited him well. Samahl.  _Laughter_. The halls of Skyhold seemed empty without his laughter there, the way it started out with a snort, a cough, and then he laughed, loud, and filled with joy. It was infectious, and it almost seemed no one could escape it's pull. He could have sworn he'd even seen Vivienne trying to hide her own smile at his laughter. Samahl had admitted once that he thought it was embarrassing, to always snort before he laughed, but Dorian thought it was him, it would not be his laugh without that snort there to announce its presence.

And he always recalled how his ears would redden when he was embarrassed. The way that his cheeks would flush pink, and spread right up through his ears, darkening at he tips. Dorian had once commented on it, to then watch him flush darker as he looked away, and then, miraculously enough, even further when Dorian had told him he thought it was adorable.

Samahl was just as memorable when he was thinking. The way that he would chew on his lower lip as a stared out at nothing, more often than not, with a book open in his hands, all but forgotten. Dorian found himself tempted to pull Samahl's lip from those unforgiving teeth, maybe nibble on it himself. Thinking was a look that suited Samahl, all looks suited him, but this one, oh... How it would do things to him!

He replayed the more intimate moments they shared, the moment when Samahl was hovering right at the edge. He'd pull Dorian closer, hands trembling with a mix of pleasure and exhaustion, and whisper his name like a prayer, a wish, a shared secret that he didn't want to let anyone else hear, before he let himself release.

There were many things that Dorian remembered, small or big, and he wouldn't ever let himself forget a single one, not even if his mind emptied of anything but Lavellan. For what could be more important than these moments he shared with Samahl? He could think of nothing that would take his place in his mind, and he knew what that meant, even if he was reluctant to say it.

He was smitten.


End file.
